


Sea Change

by Vulgarweed



Series: Ravenous [4]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:39:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione's new world: a scarier school, a more remote place, some strange new friends, and the same looming mysteries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea Change

"Petra. For heaven's sake, no one's holding your grief against you, but can't you even tell us what you've done? The Ministry's not here. No one's judging you--"

Petrovna turned around to face them, and all the gathered ones stepped back just a little as she drew herself to her full height. There was a subtle shifting as, nearly unconsciously, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, and Albus Dumbledore jockeyed for position to step protectively in front of one another. Dumbledore, highest in status, wound up in the heroic front. "No, Albus? You're not?" she said. "Step out of yourself and into my boots. Imagine what you could become if you failed."

"I cannot indulge that," said Dumbledore. Minerva's hand lay stubbornly upon his shoulder.

"No, you're right, you cannot, not yet," Petra said, a stony sob in her voice. "But I must."

***

When Igor Karkaroff rode to Durmstrang he was deathly afraid of what he would find. But for the two men who flew beside him on sleek black brooms, he would never have gone at all, only tried once again in vain to disappear into the great world that was still too small to hide him. Their snide ringing voices twanged with a constant joke that he knew he was not privy to and would not be until it turned its cold light straight upon him. He was growing to dread the very sound of their English inflections.

It seemed at first that nothing had changed since Petrovna's visit. Good, thought Karkaroff. The longer that illusion holds, the better for me.

Ice still preserved fallen bodies in twisted poses, and the roofless great staircase was now as deep in snow as the forest outside. There was no sound but the crunching of their boots on the crust – no beast, no bird dared to speak from behind the hulking trees. But it had seemed to Karkaroff as if the great firs themselves leaned in closer to watch as the three pushed inside the frozen castle.

"Nice shack!" one of the Death Eaters barked.

"Glad those aren't my heating bills, though," sneered the other.

"Did they burn some bitches to keep it warm?"

It was cold, Karkaroff knew. But not as cold as it should have been. All my summonses, gone, stupid woman. And she sent a word on the wind. Reckless, dangerous crazy-witch. Will be the death of us all— with any luck, you first.

"It's all right," he told the other two as they stood in the dungeon chamber. "She didn't do half the damage I feared. She's a weakling after all."

There was a terrible moment as he let the lie take root.

One spat noisily on the ice. "You always were a pussy, Jackaroff." His companion laughed.

The English ones don't even care for their own, Karkaroff noted with interest. He could tell spring was coming, for the frozen carcasses had thawed enough to show bits of gnawing, where ravens and wolves had worked. Too long they had lain, though. Too long. There would be hell to pay.

***

...Nervous breakdown, and a most understandable one considering her recent ordeal. I strongly believe she would do well with a good long period of rest. Madame Petrovna would no doubt appreciate conversation with one who understands her position, and we would be happy to host her stay here at Hogwarts. Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore.

***

After the second month had passed, Hermione was at last allowed the free run of the western end of the Isle, only a bit out of sight of the fortress. She was annoyed with herself to realize she'd hardly begrudged the confinement, being so caught up in matters of the library, the meditations, the histories, and the classes, and her own roiling thoughts. She needed some fresh air.

The Isle of Mysteries was like another planet. The surroundings of Hogwarts had been orders of magnitude deeper and wilder than her manicured suburban home, and the Isle was yet further removed from that. It was bleak and stark and heroically ancient, where the swirling moods of the sky made up for the lack of vegetation on the stern dark mountains that led abruptly down to the sea. Walking on the pebbly strand, watching the waves foam and breathe under the pewter sky, Hermione felt that she looked out upon the edge of time. She half expected to see fishermen in furs in a Bronze Age coracle, or off on the horizon the sinister prow of a Viking dragon boat, were it not that everything human was behind her. This place must have been chosen not only for its remoteness and inaccessibility but for its constant reminder that there is a vast amount of magic in the world, and witches and wizards control only a tiny fraction.

She got an image of three powerful ones--Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape--standing on this beach, in the simple white robes and sickles of Druids. It was a beautiful glimpse, even as she giggled to think of Snape wearing white.

No doubt about it, she missed him. She didn't miss having points taken from Gryffindor for existing, and she didn't miss his snide remarks or his petty tyrannies or his petulant rages. She missed their secret world late at night, in which her stormiest instincts were set free like waves to batter satisfyingly against the strong rockiness of him, in which the more dangerous their criminal intimacies got, the safer she felt, as violence rose up freely to diffuse itself into pleasure.

The physical training wasn't quite comparable. She'd come into the Academy at an odd time, alone, and hadn't gotten much beginner's slack. Straight in to the pouncing and crouching, the punching and dodging— and she, forever playing catchup and out of breath, had spent a month of mind-over-matter just to walk normally, waiting for her muscles to stop crackling like clay on a dry lakebed. Only now was she beginning to feel an energy flow taking slow lurches through her arm when she lunged at the animated mannikins. She took grim satisfaction in her slow improvements - but nothing that would pass for real release.

She did not want to think about the dark surge that had exalted through her on its way to her wand, to become the green flash that struck down Viktor forever. Nor did she want to think about the last days at Hogwarts after the deal was done--how just once, just once, but enough, of all people her best friend, who of course still loved her but he had edged away just an inch, as if reluctant to touch her; as if green light still leaked a bit from her pores. He probably thought she hadn't seen him brushing his forehead with his sleeve, as if his scar itched. Perhaps it had.

The problem with the Isle of Mysteries was that she didn't think it ever got warm there. Nearly Beltane, and she was wrapping a heavy blue cloak around herself and shivering even as she enjoyed the briny wind. The hoary alien landscape and its flora and fauna were pleasantly distracting. Puffins played on craggy rocks out in the water, and sometimes out of the corner of her eye, she thought she glimpsed fat brown seals that were only splashes and sleek shadows beneath the surface when she turned to look again. And there was even a naked girl diving into the water from a small island...

A what?

Just a large splash of foam, nothing more. She wandered on as she shook her head at her fanciful imagination, and over the salty sea-scent she caught a heavier, sickly-sweet whiff of decay. Not all the seagulls she heard crying were seagulls. As she got closer and the stink grew stronger she saw that the large black mass around a bend was not itself black at all but greyish-white: a rotting dead small whale under a seething mass of ravens. It was one of the most disgusting things she had ever seen, yet she couldn't take her eyes away as the birds tore off hunks of softened flesh and flapped and croaked at each other. A little appalled at herself, she climbed out on a rock promontory that reached into the water for a better view.

Maybe this'll help me miss Snape less, she thought. If he ever tries to kiss me with THAT on his breath...

"I wouldna stare so hard at the corbies," piped up a voice. "Some folk say they'll steal your eyes away."

Hermione almost jumped out of her skin, or at least fell off her rock. She whirled around and saw a girl bobbing comfortably in the cold grey water, her shoulders and arms white and bare and the rest of her body submerged. Long hair of a rich brown streamed out behind her and her huge eyes were the same shade.

"Who are you?" she asked, "Where did you come from?"

"A better question is where did you come from? But I know, ye're from up on the hill."

Hermione goggled a bit as the girl climbed out up onto the rock beside her, naked as the day she was born and utterly unselfconscious, and apparently not cold either. Seawater beaded on her creamy skin.

"Are you cold? Do you want to borrow my cloak?" Hermione didn't really want to give it up, but it seemed polite to offer. The girl only laughed.

"I'm Hermione," she said awkwardly, holding out a hand. The girl took it and shook it firmly. Her flesh was warm, the fingers short and slightly webbed.

"Ye all give yer names away just like that," she said with some amusement. "Well, ye wouldna learn to say mine for many a year anyway. Call me Ita, it's true enough."

"Okay...Ita." They sat in nearly companionable silence, watching the ravens eat. Hermione was glad there wasn't much conversation; she was embarrassed at her own reaction to Ita's sea-mammal scent and delicate beauty, as well as ashamed that it had taken her so long to figure out that Ita wasn't exactly human.

The girl stared out to sea in the direction Hermione had been gazing. "Is he a sailor then?" she asked finally.

"Huh? Who?"

"You know who," said the sea-girl coyly. "Yer true love, as they say. Used to be the women would come out here and gaze out to sea all the time. That's what they meant by it."

Hermione burst out laughing. "Well....no," she said into that strange brown stare. "No, I don't have a true love."

"Well, that's a pity. You must be cold at night then." The look had turned mischievous. "No one at all?"

"Er...well, I didn't say that!" Hermione blurted. Why not, she thought. Why not tell someone? No doubt this is the least likely creature I've ever met to give a damn about Hogwarts policy. "Er....yeah, there is. Not my true love, lord no. But he's..."

"Mm-hmmm?" said Ita encouragingly.

"...a schoolteacher," Hermione mumbled.

"Well then, shouldn't ye be staring out the other way?" Ita giggled. Then her face turned quickly grim. "I'm glad for ye he's not a sailor, for I doubt you'd see him again if he were. The sea has turned dark again and not so good for us. Just the last night I heard tell the merpeople say it might be near time to go talk with the cat-man about it."

"The cat-man?"

"Sure you know the cat-man! He's up at that school up there—he's one of your people."

"No, I really - I'm new, I haven't met everyone there yet."

"Coy," said Ita, and grabbed Hermione's arm suddenly. "You must come for a swim with us."

"I don't know....it's cold."

"Well, if not tonight then some other night. Be gone with you now if you won't. It's getting late."

Hermione realized that indeed spring was bringing with it longer days if not warmer winds - trusting her southerner's sense of the sun would get her in trouble. She was aware now of other shapes amid the rocks just below the surface, that if she studied them long enough would turn into faces. A little nervously she gathered her cloak around her.

"Do come, though - promise!" said Ita, leaning in close.

"I promise, I will -" Hermione said, backing away awkwardly toward the land, feeling behind her for balance.

For no reason she was certain of, she broke into a run once she reached the grassy hill.

 

***

Albus Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his pointy nose and poured a sizable splash of Old Ogden's into his glass. "She's a difficult woman," was all he would say. "The walls in her psyche would make Hadrian weep."

Minerva laughed a little. "And I thought you liked her!"

"I do, my dear, I do. I would like her more if she would give me a straight answer to anything."

Snape snorted violently, then held his nose in pain as the others turned to stare at him. "Cauldron....kettle....black," he murmured.

"Yes, well," Albus chortled.

"She doesn't trust anyone. And you can't really blame her," said Minerva, stirring her own spiked brew.

"I wish she'd trusted one or two of the half-million people who'd told her not to trust Karkaroff," Snape sneered.

"I don't think she ever did," said Albus. "She stuck to Durmstrang anyway because someone had to. Anyway, Minerva, I hear you have some good news."

"If you can call it that, I suppose," she said, producing a roll of parchment from the pocket of her robe. Dumbledore read it and smiled widely.

"Well, congratulations to the both of you. Marcus Anadine's not an easy wizard to impress."

Even Severus couldn't help but grin. "His Laboratory of Mysteries confirmed it. Completely pure Lionheart, flawlessly brewed."

Dumbledore nodded happily. "I hope you didn't send an owl to do a smarter bird's job."

Severus smirked.

"Unplottable, his feathered arse," said Minerva. "Should we be worried about that?"

"Well," said Albus, leaning back in his chair. "Perhaps. Petra does insist on going."

***

Hermione sat practicing disguises in a half-cocked manner as she flipped through her mail, trying not to think of Eloise Midgen and her misplaced nose. Or of her own hexed front teeth, for that matter. "I see no difference," indeed. The worst thing about disguise magic was that it didn't show up in one's own mirror very well, so Hermione needed something else to do with her eyes.

Harry, in the middle of NEWTs, counting the days til he'd be a Mysteries Branch Academy cadet himself. It was nice of him to say he couldn't wait to see her, but she knew full well he'd be just as happy going to Tanzania, as long as it too was free of Malfoys, Snapes, and Dursleys.

Ron, also going berzerk and looking forward to a stress-free summer ideally spent entirely in his pyjamas at the Burrow. Oddly curt, this one. Well, not so oddly. Couldn't blame him - though she could have sworn his response to her dropping him was more relief than heartache, though he went without clue as to the reason, and hadn't seemed to think to ask. As if she would have told him. Not that Mister "I See No Difference" really had been the reason, only the catalyst: after all, of course good sex is better than bad sex. But so is a half-decent book. The strange part was that it turned out that good sex with someone you didn't like could also be so much better than bad sex with someone you do. She really couldn't imagine herself trying to explain that to Ron, and without hurting his feelings at that.

Maybe there might come a day when she could see if Harry got such nuances. With a head full of cheap Muggle wine, it turned out his legendary thickness when it came to all things emotionally complex could at times dissolve -- or at least move over enough to make room for blunt negotiations. Come to think of it, that was funny too: the Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who Studied took an embarrassingly long time—near to the end of sixth year—and large amount of cheap hooch to figure out that they were indeed equipped to help each other out of the undesirable virginal state. (Not that it would have affected her grades much—it was Hagrid, of all people, who'd gingerly pointed out to his aide Professor Grubbly-Plank that nowadays it wasn't so good to work with unicorns once the girls got past fourth year or so, not in front of the whole class, wouldn't want anybody embarrassed. Apparently, debauchery in the Sapphic style didn't count with the phallic-headed creatures; otherwise the professor might have been more sensitive herself.)

Clincally speaking, of course, that had been bad sex too. But they had laughed so much it had been rather nice anyway, in its hilarious elbowy, pine-needle-ridden, don't-kneel-on-my-glasses, get-off-my-hair-you-oaf, ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-SORRY! clumsy absurdity: fittingly enough, sealed with thanks and smiles and handshakes and never mentioned again but for the occasional knowing titter at the sight of that certain brand of screw-top wine. She had been glad at the time it was a friend, not a less trustworthy lover, and how wise that had proved.

The next was a package from McGonagall, and Hermione was overjoyed to find a very nice leather-bound edition of a John Dee work on codes and ciphers, with lots of notes covered in Minerva's precise dark-red writing stuck between its well-thumbed pages. It was considerably more advanced than the Academy's Remedial Magical Cryptography, of course. ("Remedial?" she'd wailed. "Afraid so, lassie," said Moody. "You were in Gryffindor, weren't you? We can't take any chances with the terminally blunt.") Minerva had probably anticipated that, bless her scheming heart.

The piece of mail that should have been there was conspicuous by its absence—and perhaps all the more itself for that. Oh come on, she thought fiercely, toward the general direction of Hogwarts. You know I hardly expect a love letter._

What exactly did she expect?

Something to drawn out the sound of the file drawers of her memory banging open in the wind, something to make her less vulnerable to the boggarts of the night who flashed green light and then died at her feet. He had been so good at that before.

***

CRACK! went the fireplace, with an outward explosion of ash.

Minerva jerked awake and transformed in the same instant, finding herself peering out from under a dangling blanket with her keen cat-nose, trembling as she pulled herself together and watched Albus throw a painfully-patterned bathrobe over his thin nightshirt.

"Where's Petrovna?" demanded the fireplace. No, that was Snape, climbing out of it uninvited, brushing soot from his bathrobe with one hand and brandishing a parchment with the other.

"Sleeping, I would imagine. It's a wonderful thing, Severus. You should try it."

Snape only thrust the note—a scrap ripped from some sort of newsletter—at Dumbledore, who squinted at it. It was in Finnish.

"Here," Severus muttered, producing a dusty Babel-Glass from his bathrobe pocket. Albus fumbled for his spectacles by the bedside, read the scrap through the glass quickly and looked up with startled eyes.

"Timmins and Barkley," Severus said flatly. "The others must be local contacts. What they were doing anywhere near the Barents Sea, I suppose I can guess. But why there're so very dead, I haven't a clue."

"Yes," said Albus, with something resembling an unpleasant sort of twinkle, "according to this, they're not just a little bit dead."

"Yes, the parts that were found were scattered all over the rocks for a considerable distance. Explains why it took so long to figure out who they were--and who they weren't. But Igor always was good at going missing when others turned up dead."

Albus rubbed an eye under the half-moons. "Are you quite sure he's not dead?"

"Would I bet my life on it? No. Would I bet a good deal of money? Yes."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well, shall we see Petra in the morning then? Mind you, I doubt she'll talk much about it with us."

Snape glittered a little, coldly. "It could be arranged."

"Of course it could, but I'd rather try the honey before the vinegar. She wants to go to the Isle and talk with the Research Department. Really, when I think about it further, I see no reason why she shouldn't."

"Because we need to - "

"Yes, we should. And I don't think I was about to say that anyone from the Academy should take time from their work to escort her."

Severus's brow furrowed for a moment while he pondered this. "And I suppose you think that -"

"Normally I wouldn't hear of you putting yourself at risk by leaving any more than you have to, but I would say very quietly and under cover of--"

Snape's face cracked in a vaguely smilish spasm. "Well, it would be pleasant to escape the confines."

"Good!" Albus cried, clapping his hands. "I take it you'll let me return to the rather pleasant dream I was having...?"

Snape growled something affirmative and stepped into the fireplace, an odd spot of colour in his pale face.

The tabby cat emerged from under the bed and gave Albus a very reproachful look before resuming Minerva's form. "Albus, that's both the best and the worst idea you've had all week."

***

This is reckless and silly, Hermione told herself as she carefully picked her way down the rocks by the stark moonlight. It's not as if there isn't enough to study already.

Oh stop it, said another inner voice. This hardly ranks at all on the scale of stupid risks that we're used to. Besides, we can't come this far and then turn back, especially not with them calling from the water the way they were. They'll wake the whole Academy, and then what?

She could already see dark heads bobbing in the surf, see one of Ita's white arms waving to her gleefully. It wasn't an experience one just walked away from, once offered.

She waved back as she climbed out on the rock. There were seven of them gathered, all similar and none identical with their huge eyes and slightly animal faces. She was excited but dawdling, picking at the clasp of her dark blue cloak. It was not, as she'd hoped, noticeably warmer.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Well, alright then," Hermione sighed, and shrugged off the cloak, letting the sea wind batter against her robe. She took the lump out of her pocket--the bag of gillyweed--and tried to acclimate to the cold as she opened it slowly. It didn't look appealing, but she gamely shoved the handful of gelatinous tendrils into her mouth and began to chew as she unbuttoned her robe.

There was a smatter of derisive catcalls from the water as she stood shivering in her plain black swimsuit.

"What's wrong with it?" Hermione demanded.

"Oh, silly girl!" Ita scoffed. "Ye'll freeze to death in no time if you wear that. I've seen how your people do in the water. First ye get sluggish. Then ye sleep."

"And down to Davy Jones go yer bones," drawled a deeper-voiced girl with apparent relish.

"Well, it was you that wanted me to come out here," Hermione said, frustrated.

"Ah, don't mind Aoife there," said Ita. "She's just trying to scare ye a little. But we'll take care of ye fine if ye just trust us. Go on now, get rid of it and come on out in what the Great Mother gave ye."

Well, here it was then, the test to be passed or failed. Hermione locked her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering and reluctantly eased the straps off her shoulders, pulled the tight stretchy fabric down over her breasts and wriggled to get it past her hips, then stepped out of it one foot at a time, shivering so hard she nearly stumbled. They might find it natural to be naked, but it wasn't something Hermione was used to, and she hunched her shoulders a little, cursing her brazen nipples for standing up so sharply, the largest goosebumps of many. Slowly she plodded down to the water, avoiding bits of broken shell and sharp rocks as best she could by the moonlight, and supressing a little shriek as a wave engulfed her feet in shocking cold. With sheer will she forced herself forward as the water rose to her thighs, then her waist, to meet Ita partway in the surf.

Ita dived for a moment, groping for something below the surface in the rocks, and sprayed cold sea from her hair as she erupted back up, clutching a dark grey bundle.

"Now see," she said, "If ye'd had that other thing on, you couldn't wear this." Hermione gasped as Ita unfolded what appeared to be a slick grey cloth. Ita passed it to her, and she marvelled at its texture - sleek and velvety, slightly furred, elastic and strangely warm. When she held it shortwise it looked only the size of a towel, but lengthwise it seemed long enough that she could wrap it around her whole body like a sari. Ita slipped up behind her and gathered up its edges, draping it around Hermione's shoulders, and it warmed her deeply as it clung to her skin.

The other girls in the water were giggling.

"Ita!" Hermione said, startled, "Is this....?"

"'Tis my skin!" Ita crowed. "I don't need it for the moment, so I let you wear it while we swim, though you won't get out of my sight with it."

Hermione's mind whirled with questions, but caught between the wonderful insulation of the skin and the slight dizziness that came with gillyweed taking hold, she wanted to do what she had come here to do. Ita took her hand, leading her into the deeper water where the others bobbled and dived and chased each other through the silvery dark. Graine, Aine, Cliodne, they went by--though their real names were in seal-language, not to be spoken by human mouths. Hermione felt privileged to be with them as she dived for the first time and felt the water around her and under her, buoying her up and spreading out her bushy hair till it seemed as slick and straight as the seal-girls'.

Pages from Magical Beings: Our Nearest Neighbours fanned out in her mind like seaweed: the Selchies were dangerous if angered, but did not generally lie, and if they'd said they'd protect you, they'd hold to it (barring a good reason to change their minds). She had never read about them offering anyone a loan of a skin for a midnight swim--but then, the book was written by a wizard, not a witch.

She and Ita dived, hand in hand, and Hermione let the stronger girl lead her around a low-riding bank of rock. Hermione felt awkward with her jerky strokes and kicks, but Ita moved in the water like a human dancer through air. As they swam, Ita sang a low song, and Hermione could hear it clearly.  
At the sound of the song, she could feel shapes brushing against her as sea creatures responded and greeted them but kept their anonymity in the shadows. With her giant eyes, it seemed Ita could see where they were going well enough, and Hermione only once or twice painfully banged elbow or knee on rock as they passed through bumpy shoals. The dark forms of other Selchies in girl-shape shimmered up near her briefly and then away again.

"It's so beautiful," Hermione said at last as they breached the surface by a jagged island of rock, nearly out of sight of the shore.

"Indeed," said Ita. "It is our home."

Hermione was afraid to break the spell, but the question burst out of her. "Why did you ask me to come out here? Just to show me? Just to get me swimming?"

"No, if course it's not all," sighed Ita. "We may need more friends among the land folk. Did I not tell you the sea is disturbed? Dark things are coming down from the North -- now we hear that the narwhals are fleeing the ice fields they love, that some of them have died. And worse."

"Worse?"

"Not far from here," said Ita, pointing to the horizon on the right, "is the place where my grandmother brought down a whaling ship. All the crew, bedazzled by her beauty—some of them drowned and the rest entranced, to make easy prey for the ice and the gale." She shrugged. "The whales are our allies. She did it for them and was glad she did. Most of us in the sea have owed each other, always. We forget our differences when an enemy comes."

Hermione nodded.

"And what if the enemies themselves come up from the sea?" Ita asked, her eyes frightened. "If the sea-bottom stirs and all the bones wake up?"

"Wait, what do you...?"

"We live in the shallows, by the rocks and the shores where the fishing is good and those who wish to walk the land may do that sometimes. We don't know this much about the deeps. But what we hear of them now is fearsome. I don't like it. The merpeople are having meetings about it all the time, and their envoy did not return."

"What can I do?"

"We don't want a lot of land people here," Ita said sternly. "The sea people...none of them would like that. There's not much trust, see. But you're a witch, an' that's better'n' a Muggle. And there are wise people at that school of yours. The cat-man is one--he knows more'n' anyone on land, I reckon, about things I don't dare talk about."

"I haven't met him yet. I'm very new there."

"Well, you will, and sooner rather than later I hope. Tell him. Tell him the sea people are worried."

"I will."

Ita's face grew somber. "We hope you land people know what it is and what to do, for we think 'twas land people that brought the darkness to the sea again. Always throwing their rubbish in, letting the sea take it away from their minds. Well, there are things we cannot eat, and what goes down to the deep does not always stay there forever."

"I'm sorry for that," Hermione said sincerely. "I'll do what I can. Is that what you wanted to bring me here for?"

"Not all of it," said Ita impishly, gathering Hermione's face in her small hands and kissing her startled mouth softly.

She wondered if this was what it was like to kiss—really kiss—a girl, or only to kiss a Selchie, or perhaps just Ita herself. A strong aquatic body bumped up against her own, warm in the water and slick with the sea. Ita tasted of salt and fish, but fresh and clean; her arms closed in around her and Hermione swooned a little, unsure if her head was above the surface or below. But as her mind came clear, she felt clearly: this wasn't like the men, the boys, dry and demanding--this was firm and calm, certain as the tide. She didn't have to reach for intoxication; if she withdrew her will a little, the sensation remained. She could experiment with it. Dare just a bit, move her hand against Ita's silkiness, kick her thighs softly against the surrounding sea, and none of it faded. So she decided to lean into it, to nuzzle her neck and kiss her slightly furry ears, wonder at the tendrils of little waves about her face like whiskers. The hand around her back was firm and strong and pulling her in against squirming softness. Fascinated, Hermione moved a hand of her own down the thin collarbone, resting Ita's breast in her palm, marveling at its shape, so like her own but different. She received an encouraging giggle.

But in a moment Ita's head jerked away as one of the seals' weird cries echoed atop the water.

"Down," Ita whispered. "To the rock. There's someone on the strand!"

Trying to splash as little as possible Hermione clung to her companion, letting herself be pulled to the promontory's edge.

Far down the strand, where the rocks and sand were contrastingly pale, Hermione could dimly see two figures. One was tall and dark-robed, wearing a hat, but moonlight shone on his long white hair and beard. The other--Hermione took some time to make out exactly what was going on with him. Eventually her eyes made sense of it: it was a man sitting in something that would have been very like a wheelchair if it had possessed wheels. It didn't. It had four legs and paws, and it walked with feline balance across the rocks.

"The cat-man!" Ita whispered.

"Oh good! That's good, right? You can go tell him yourself!"

"Who is that other?"

"I can't be sure, but it looks like the Headmaster from my old school! But what's he doing here?" Now Hermione was terrified. For all she knew, it could be about her. Did the Ministry want to send her to Azkaban after all?

Well, they just might if I were caught out here.

"My clothes!" she gasped quietly, looking helplessly at the pile of robes by the rock. The two wizards couldn't see it from where they were, but soon they would pass the promontory.

Ita let out a strange noise from deep in her throat--a seal-cry. Hermione watched as a seal flapped out from the other side of their rock and took the heap of clothing in its whiskered jaws. To her dismay the seal humped back into the water, dragging her clothes halfway in, but there was nothing to be done about that.

She looked up just in time to see distant Dumbledore--for indeed it was he--raise his hand to the sky. A large dark bird landed on his wrist and perched sullenly. For a crazy moment she thought it was Fawkes, but it was clearly not a phoenix but a raven. Even as her heart stupidly leaped, she sank further back into the water.

"I don't want that other to see me," Ita said.

"It's all right! Dumbledore is a great man! I swear--saved my life many times."

"That may be, but it isn't right, I just can't. Not like this. Go back up when you can and talk to the cat-man. Tell him what I told you. Something is going on, for sure it must be, for he so rarely comes down here."

Dumbledore and the cat-man had turned around and were walking back the way they had come, the bird still on Dumbledore's outstretched arm.

"I have to go," Ita said, looking around nervously. "Come back though. The next night, and tell me if he told you anything."

"But why-?" Hermione reluctantly peeled the seal-skin from her body and handed it back as she climbed from the water to the rock, still hidden from the landside.

"Good night," said Ita, and kissed her again, and flashed a conspiratorial smile, and took the skin. When Hermione looked up from the splash she saw only a wake of water speeding away.

Confused and disgruntled, she started gently beating her wet and wrinkled cloak against the rocks. And almost fell into the water when she heard the flap of wings behind her.

"Well, well, what a sight," drawled a familiar voice. "The Gryffindor Aphrodite. A little-known Renaissance work."

She turned half around, back up. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"That's true," Snape smirked. "But the setting is remarkable."

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, whirling all the way round.

He reached out and took a handful of the bundle of the clothing in her arms. "Damp. But not soaked. If you just fell in, you planned it well."

It was true. The only thing that was dry was her swimsuit.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated, more slowly and carefully. She meant her tone to insult, but her mouth was also growing thick and slow with the cold.

"Reconnaisance," he said, "The Headmaster sent me to see if there were any naked girls on the rocks. He said they're seen here sometimes, unlikely as it may seem. Little did I know...."

"That's an obvious lie," she said. "You and your spying eyes."

"Your lips are turning blue," he said imperiously.

"Warm me then, you unchivalrous bastard."

His face flashed stormy for a moment. "Ten poi...." He caught himself. With a shrug he stretched out his cloak and she stepped into it. It was lined in black fur and it shielded her from the wind and the spray nearly as well as Ita's skin had done. A wild idea took her as she slid her hands around his back and pulled him close.

"Pretend you don't know me," she whispered.

"What are you on about?"

Good sign, she thought, he's curious.

"If you didn't k-know me," she repeated, shivering. "You're a f-fisherman or a b-beachcomber…or who n-knows why you're here? So you f-find a girl out here, n-not a stitch on, and…"

"Throw her over my shoulder and haul her back to my hut? Or just have my way with her out here on the rocks?" he whispered huskily, and she pressed up against him encouragingly. "Oh, I think not, since most likely she's some kind of…creature up to no good."

"You'd be afraid of her?" said Hermione, now more wiggling than shaking.

"I didn't say that," he said. His breath did not, at least, smell like dead whale. Over his shoulder Hermione glanced out to sea, where curious dark faces bobbed up around the rocks. Not much of a show, Hermione thought, I don't think I can bear to leave this cloak. Warming fur encircled her, shielded her from the waterworn stone against her back; its silkiness against the roughness of Snape's robe of heavy wool. He traced a fingertip down her neck and between her breasts, clearly warming to the thought.

"I don't have time for this game," he snarled. "But the only other explanation is she's a spy who wants something from me."

"Well yes," she said, pressing her thigh up between his.

"Besides that," he gasped.

"In addition to that," she shuddered, cold fingers fumbling for buttons and feeling him twitch when they found warm flesh.

"You're getting better—" he said sucking in breath as she moved him, towards and in, flesh already hot and damp.

"I do know you –" she whispered, then caught the words in her throat as he grasped her; his knees bent, a slight lift, and as they drove together they both cried out, in silence. One knee scrabbling for purchase on the rock for a better angle, she held her arms around his thin shoulders; his hipbones hard against her, thighs open just so—

"Ow!"

"What? Ssh!"

"Sorry – rock. Ah! Fuck!"

"Yes!"

Rock and bone, bad combo, fur or no fur; no matter. Mind off it. This was how it should have been; wet wind, chill, moon; he grasped her hair and pulled her head back, half whispering inarticulate sounds in her ear and half biting it; her nails struggling with his clothes to get under them. So good; his scent his feel, and he'd gotten so hard so fast. Couldn't go on long…oh bloody hell!

With a heroic effort she pushed him away and scrabbled halfway up the rock in a panic. Taking in his shocked look she sank back down, onto her knees, and closed her mouth around his cock before he could react. And that truly did not take long.

He tasted strangely oceanic.

"Who's the cat-man?" she asked.

He laughed. "Something has happened to your attention span."

"It's better than you think," she smirked.

"You forgot the spell, didn't you?"

"Only for a moment. And I think I covered rather well, or at least I heard no complaints."

"I have none," he said.

"For once,"

"Except that naked sea wenches ought to be in bed at this hour and not poking around for things that don't concern them."

"Well, I found something that I think does concern me."

"It's a pity this isn't a reform school."

"Will you tell me who he is or do I have to find out on my own?"

"Powers forfend. He's Dr. Wilmarth, and what if I tell you his research is terribly dull?"

"Ah, so he's a…scientist, of a sort? Good to know."

"Dull. Deadly dull. A real stay-at-home."

"You're an awful liar."

"I'm a better liar before sex than right after."

"Why are you here, Professor?"

"No lie – it's none of your business. Now get back to your room. I hope you've got as much stealth going in as you must have had coming out."

"I'll try. Dessicato," she said, pointing her slightly-damp wand at her sad pile of sandy robes.

Snape gave her one last looking-over before she started to dress, and he changed and flew away.


End file.
